Archive of Our Own ^beta

oikawa keeps five weighted blankets across his apartment. yamaguchi counted, and knows where all of them are kept.

volleyball hurts. for someone like oikawa, who stopped playing two years ago, the pain is more of a memory. occasional aches when he stretches muscles while retrieving things from high shelves, morning stretches for particularly persistent healed injuries, regret over letting the pain take something from him. for someone like yamaguchi, who still plays, the pain shoots in like a midnight knock on the door. most of the time it is the simple things, like ice packs after matches, quick naps between practice and date night, and rolls of finger tape kept in gym bags (oikawa helps him wrap his fingers the first few times). but sometimes, it’s the big things.

tonight, it’s a big thing.

yamaguchi is about to wear a hole in the arm of the sofa. he is rubbing his index finger in small circles absentmindedly on the fabric, though whether it’s to comfort or distract himself he doesn’t know. he’s not quite sure if he cares to know. oikawa is sitting on the floor in front of him, sandwiched between the sofa and the small wooden coffee table that sits in front of it. he is focusing intently on tracing the freckles on yamaguchi’s right calf, completely aware of yamaguchi’s eyes on him as he does so. he keeps tracing.

“oh, hey!” oikawa exclaims, “looks like you’ve got new freckles.”

yamaguchi cranes his neck in an attempt to look where oikawa is pointing. “it’s the middle of winter, how can i have new freckles?”

oikawa shrugs. “i don’t know, but you definitely do.” he hauls himself up from the floor and addresses yamaguchi in the next breath: “now, how do tadashi and his new freckles feel?”

yamaguchi’s mood shifts— no, drops. “fine.”

oikawa frowns as yamaguchi breaks eye contact with him. “‘fine’ is such a boring answer, tadashi. give me something good! fantastic, incredible, amazing, or even gruesomely awful. anything is better than a boring old ‘fine’!”

yamaguchi doesn’t answer. he is staring at his left leg, a small frown etched in his face.

it reminds oikawa of something, something he knows. something that’s sour and sticky in his brain and threatens to crawl up his throat. he pushes it back down.

“okay!” he says, “that’s okay. we can do ‘fine’. ‘fine’ is good!” he moves into the kitchen, talking as he goes. “so! i heard glasses played pretty well today.”

over the top of the sofa, oikawa sees yamaguchi nod.

“yeah,” he replies, “tsukki actually did really good today! though he’d never admit it.”

oikawa snorts. he’s met yamaguchi’s team more than a couple of times, and the odd one out always seems to be the stoic and (in his opinion) obnoxious middle blocker. “you’re right about that!” he says.

having completed his task, oikawa returns to the living room. he stands in front of the sofa, holding out a pill bottle and a cup of water. yamaguchi gives him a questioning look.

oikawa rolls his eyes, “for the pain, freckles.”

“it doesn’t hurt that much,” yamaguchi lies.

“oh, glasses is really getting to you, huh!”

yamaguchi cracks a small smile at that. they stare at each other. oikawa arches an expectant eyebrow.

yamaguchi takes two of the pills.

oikawa smiles. “good,” he says, then claps his hands together, “now, are you up for a movie?”

“um… sure.”

oikawa makes a space for himself to sit on the edge of the sofa. “what do you want to watch?”

yamaguchi shrugs, so oikawa picks up the remote and shoves it in his direction. he takes it.

“anything, i swear,” oikawa reiterates, “i won’t even complain if you put on one of those weird documentaries you like.”

after scrolling for a couple minutes, yamaguchi ends up choosing a weird documentary he likes. true to his word, oikawa doesn’t complain (he really doesn’t mind the selection as much— it’s one they’ve seen a couple times already). they start the documentary, and sit in silence for a while. oikawa isn’t really paying attention to the television, partly because he isn’t particularly invested in the subject matter and partly because he can sense the discomfort rolling off yamaguchi in waves.

he stands up, and yamaguchi immediately pauses the documentary.

oikawa gives him a look. “come on, we’ve watched this like four times. you know you don’t have to wait for me.”

“i thought you might want to watch it a fifth time.”

oikawa rolls his eyes, but smiles. “turn it back on, tadashi. i’ll be right back!”

“okay.”

oikawa returns with a bundle in his arms. unceremoniously, he drops it in yamaguchi’s lap. yamaguchi processes the new weight sitting on his torso (something weighed heavy there before) then looks up at oikawa.

oikawa draws out a sarcastic sigh. “i have to do everything around here, huh!” he jokes, then puts one hand on his hip and uses the other to gesture at the blanket, “that is for you, you know.”

“you went all the way to your bedroom closet for this one.” yamaguchi comments, running the edge of the blanket between his fingers, “it’s your favorite.”

“only the best for you!”

that brings out a small smile. slowly, yamaguchi unfolds the blanket (or rather, stretches out the bundled mess) across his body. oikawa is there to help him pull it over his legs.

once oikawa returns to his spot, the documentary gets turned back on. silence follows until the last ten minutes are scrolling across the screen (oikawa and yamaguchi both know the timestamps by heart).

yamaguchi turns his head towards oikawa. “what’s wrong?”

“hm?”

“something’s wrong.”

“nothing’s wrong.”

yamaguchi sits up from the slightly laid back position he had placed himself in an hour ago. “something’s wrong, tooru. you seem upset… or— or uncomfortable, i don’t know. i can’t tell.”

oikawa shifts slightly. “you’re just paranoid.”

yamaguchi frowns. he doesn’t ask again.

okay, oikawa thinks, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

he opens his mouth and breathes out before speaking. “it just— what happened today reminded me of, you know, my own… thing.”

yamaguchi nods. “i was waiting for you to bring that up,” he says, then immediately flushes, “which sounds rude, i think, and that’s not what i meant, it just— it reminded me too, even though you haven’t really told me that much about it, but i didn’t want to pry or anything so—”

oikawa grabs yamaguchi’s hands, which at some point had begun gesturing wildly. “you’re rambling.”

“sorry.”

oikawa shrugs. “nothing to be sorry for!” silence falls for a brief moment, then yamaguchi chases it away.

“you avoided the question.”

“did i?”

yamaguchi is fiddling with the blanket again. “c’mon, just— just talk to me, tooru. i like to listen.”

“nothing is going on with me, tadashi,” oikawa says, “i swear! i’m more concerned with you than myself at the moment.”

“wha— why are you concerned about me?”

“because you got hurt! if i seem uncomfortable it’s because i know you’re uncomfortable. i’m very good at reading people, you know!” he adds, an attempt at humor thrown in to lighten the mood.

“cheesy.” yamaguchi mutters, but it’s from a place of warmth. oikawa flashes a smile.

“that’s why you love me!” he proclaims, then stretches himself out across the portion of the sofa yamaguchi isn’t laying across. he almost falls off the edge, until yamaguchi shifts a bit to allow for his body to fit.

oikawa looks up at his boyfriend. yamaguchi looks back down at him, his hair moving as he does so and settling to slightly obscure his eyes. oikawa reaches up and brushes it behind his ear.

“do you want to turn the documentary back on?” oikawa asks.

yamaguchi shakes his head. “not really.”

“okay.”

they sit in silence for the third time that night, just… looking. oikawa is counting yamaguchi’s freckles. yamaguchi is struggling not to fall asleep.

his voice is tired the next time it comes. “are you comfortable?” he asks.

“yes.” oikawa says, because he is.

he is the most comfortable he’s been in a while.

“okay.” yamaguchi says, then rubs his eyes. he lays his head down and drapes his arm over oikawa.

oikawa is buzzing with warmth. “i thought you liked to be little spoon.” he musters out. it is a light jab, but it comes across with light and full of love.

“i can make an exception,” yamaguchi murmurs into his hair, “and you make a good pillow.”

oikawa smiles. he listens over the next few minutes as yamaguchi’s breath slows, the telltale sign of sleep. he closes his own eyes soon after.

maybe the big things aren’t so bad.